RA Drabbles
by Rydd Rider
Summary: Drabbles that weren't long enough to make into one-shots, five to a chapter. R&R please!
1. Chapter 1

**These are just a ton of random drabbles, ranging from 100 to 300 words. I got a lot of the prompts from the list on Spookisapuppy's profile, if any of you want to look at it, but I'm not doing them in order and I'm also adding a couple of my own. I'll put five drabbles in each chapter, so here are the first five.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ranger's Apprentice.**

1. Introduction

Halt sat comfortably in his favorite chair by the fire, the one he'd told the boy not to sit on, under threat of a severe tanning of his backside. Or had he used something more original to deter the young boy? He couldn't quite remember at the moment.

The boy. Halt's apprentice. Will. Three names, all describing a quirky figure with the curiosity of a puppy. Halt let one corner of his mouth lift into a smile as he sipped the cup of coffee that warmed his hands. Having a new apprentice should be quite… entertaining. Halt wouldn't have to do the chores for a while, at the very least. Then he thought of the incessant questions and the small ghost of a grin he'd allowed himself vanished.

What had he taught his apprentice so far? How to do as he was told. Hm, Halt might need to fix that later. Rangers who didn't break the rules every once in a while never amounted to much. He'd taught the boy how to do chores and cook. Now that was worthwhile. Halt would probably have to follow through with his threat to tan the boy's backside if he ever had the gall to fix—or more correctly, ruin—that one. But he hadn't gotten around to teaching the boy much else, yet, which disappointed him even though it was only the first day of five long years of apprenticeship.

Halt thought of what the boy _had_ learned so far, and though it was hardly anything, he still allowed his former nearly imperceptible smile to return.

It wasn't much. But it was a start.

2. Love

Love. Halt still could never quite discern what was and what wasn't when it came to that simple-sounding word embodying a truly complex idea.

_Anyone who ever said love was simple was an idiot,_ Halt thought.

There was the love between him and Pauline, the love of a man and a women, a future or current couple—Halt considered himself lucky that he and Pauline were now the latter. That wasn't simple. He had to somehow decipher the maze of a female mind, a nearly impossible feat in itself, and then please that mind. He often found himself doing the second without accomplishing the first, and at such times he found himself utterly mystified with how he ever accomplished anything.

There was the love of him to his country, the love he had for Araluen, a country he would give his life for. There was the love of friends, so seemingly simple yet nigh everlasting. There was love of mentor and apprentice, teacher of student, such as between he and Gilan.

And then there was the love of father and son. He never thought he'd know this love, he'd only be able to believe what 'they' said on the subject. And then, quite accidentally, he'd come to know that love for himself, with Will. The boy was practically his adoptive son, and Halt knew he'd do anything to keep him safe. And he knew that Will would do the same for him. Such was the love of father and son.

Each love different, a subtly changed feeling within his chest. But each was the same, unavoidable and uncontrollable. But then, maybe he didn't want to avoid it. Maybe he didn't want control of this thing so simply called love.

3. Light

Horace looked critically at the design Halt had sketched on his shield. It was certainly a much better job than what Halt had done with his shield for Horace's 'Oakleaf Knight' status in Gallica. But that could have been because he had more tools, or maybe because this design was much simpler.

The one in Gallica had been a crude rendition of an oakleaf, made quickly, without much time for perfection. This one created in Hibernia, however, was much nicer. It was a three-quarters circle for the rising sun, sitting on top a flat line that was the horizon. Squiggling rays radiated from the sun. All in all, an appropriate design for someone called 'the Sunrise Warrior'.

"The Sunrise Warrior," Horace whispered to himself. He smiled. He really did like the sound of that, whatever doubts he had about being portrayed as a mythical figure. And if he pretending to be this Sunrise Warrior somehow helped the innocent inhabitants of Hibernia, then that was a rather large bonus.

Horace was, perhaps, the most perfect person to be the Sunrise Warrior. He was a warrior of simplicity and truth, an honest person through and through. The perfect warrior of light.

4. Dark

What were Rangers if not Araluen's beings of the dark? They _were_ supposedly black magicians, after all, Gilan reflected.

The tall Ranger slipped through the forest like a ghost, invisible and unheard. It was night, the stars shining brightly above but still giving barely enough light to see by—although no light would be enough to see him by, unless it was perhaps another Ranger looking. And even then…

Gilan dragged his thoughts back to moving silent and unseen, but he didn't really need to concentrate to do that anymore, it was just so natural to him. His cloak swished in the wind, disguising his shape as just another patch of dark colors in the night. His quiver was strapped to his back, peeking over his right shoulder and ready for an easy draw. He held his already strung longbow in one hand, ready to nock, draw and shoot if needed. A Ranger was deadly with his bow, and so natural with one it was legendary. His two knives were in their double scabbard at his belt and with those too he could strike a target with complete accuracy. And unlike other Rangers, he also had a sword at his belt—and could use it.

But the best weapon of any Ranger was his own ability to stay undetected. To stay in the dark, not come into the light, shy from the sun and revel in the shadows. Melodramatic way of putting it, Gilan thought, but when surrounded by enemies it was quite true; they needed only to stay unknown whenever possible.

What kind of creature of light would retreat to darkness at the first sign of danger? Perhaps the Rangers really were of the dark.

5. Breathe Again

Halt stared in horror at the still form that had once been his young apprentice. Blood poured through limp fingers lying on the deep and surely deadly wound taken from a spear.

"Will," he whispered, desolate and bleak.

No. Not Will. Not him. He couldn't be dead. But what could Halt do?

Halt's eyes blurred with tears as he slowly moved Will's hand so he could see the wound that had taken the former apprentice's life. Accidentally, his fingers brushed the boy's wrist. Halt froze. He'd felt something.

A pulse! Frighteningly weak, but still there.

"Will," he whispered again, this time more hopeful. "Stay here. Don't die yet. I'll get you help."

Then Halt hesitated. The boy may be alive, but he was on the very verge of being gone forever. He couldn't risk leaving if Will died when he was gone. Then he saw several healers wading throughout the aftermath of the battle, helping and healing whatever soldiers had survived. Halt gestured to a healer, trying not to look too frantic, but that was exactly what he was feeling. The healer saw and began heading his way and Halt breathed a sigh of relief.

But he knew it wasn't over yet; Will was still badly wounded. Only when he was moving freely again and asking his incessant questions that seemed to ensure his wellbeing would either Halt or Will be able to breathe again.

**Review please, tell me how you liked these! If any of you have any suggestions for future drabbles, put them in your reviews and I'll try to write it.**

**-Rydd Rider**


	2. Chapter 2

**I decided not to postpone getting another chapter up since I already had it written. So here's chapter two, not too long after the first.**

**I'll do any commenting on the drabbles at the end of each chapter, but I do need to say one thing: If you DON'T like blood and/or gore, DO NOT read 10! It's title is 'Blood', so that might tip you off a bit... *cough* that makes me sound very sadistic.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own RA, and that holds for the rest of the story as well.**

6. Can You Hear Me?

Will winced and suppressed a few colorful swear words as the blade of his throwing knife bit into his palm. He really should be more careful. Then he looked a little closer at the wound and discovered that it was a deeper than he'd thought. Maybe he should get Halt…

"Will?" Perfect timing. Will got up and went to Halt, clasping his bleeding hand with the other.

Halt didn't even look up as he entered. Will almost said something, but Halt beat him to it.

"I need to go to Baron Arald for a meeting. I'll be back about three hours before sunset as long as none of the other idiots attending start a full-fledged argument."

"Halt," Will began, but got no further.

"Cook your own lunch, don't slack on training; I want you working on archery and knife throwing," Halt continued.

"Halt," Will tried again.

"And don't you dare slack on your chores, you need to sweep the—"

"Halt!" Will yelled, fed up with his mentor's determined deafness. "Can you hear me?"

Halt froze and looked to his apprentice with a frosty glare. He opened his mouth, no doubt about to deliver a punishment for the sudden disrespectful shout, but he noticed a single drop of blood fall to the floor from the boy's hand. Halt realized his mistake in an instant and immediately switched from a stern Ranger to a concerned mentor.

"What happened? How bad is it?"

Will was perfectly happy to explain his accident with the throwing knife.

But while he bandaged Will's hand, Halt mentally berated himself—Will shouldn't have had to be bleeding before his mentor should willingly took the time to listen.

7. Humanity

He slipped through the trees, silent as a wraith and harder to spot. His breath came as silent as his steps as he stalked his prey. An arrow was nocked to the string of his bow, his fingers gripping the fletching lightly, ready to draw in an instant.

There.

His features remained passive and calm, apparently neutral to anyone who might have seen his face the moment he saw his prey. His heart, however, thudded a little faster, his senses tensely aware in this adrenaline rush of the hunter and hunted.

He drew back the arrow in a silent, smooth movement. Touched the fletching lightly to the right corner of his mouth. Sighted, aiming for an instant kill. Released, letting the arrow slip through his fingers and leap from the string with the soft _thrum_ of a longbow. All within the passing of a second, a movement so practiced and fluid it was automatic.

The broadleaf arrowhead entered the side of the throat, dragging with it the wood of the shaft. Most of the shaft, as well as the feathered fletching, still protruded, and the Ranger responsible couldn't help but liken it to a nail sticking out from a board—though this picture was quite a bit more grotesque.

The corpse, once a man, dropped to the ground with a dull thump. He'd been part of the slave trade, one of the kidnappers that abducted men, women and children to be sold off at illegal auctions. Once found out, he'd become an instant target for a Ranger, instant prey.

And the moment the man had become prey, he'd been nothing but. No longer a man, another sentient human being. Not to this Ranger.

For if the man retained his former humanity, the Ranger lost his own.

8. Childhood

"So, Gilan, when did you start training with a sword again?" Will asked his friend across the campfire. Halt sat to the side, content to sip his cup of coffee in silence.

"When I was nine," the lanky Ranger replied. "Didn't I already tell you that?" he asked.

Will thought for a moment. "I think so. Down in Celtica… You also said you were pretty sick of it by the time you decided to follow Halt into the forest. I still think it would have been amazing to be a knight," Will said, a little wistfully. "Not that I'm unhappy to be a Ranger or anything, but you know," he added hastily.

Gilan snorted. "What you dream of depends on your childhood, I guess. I grew up with the potential to be a knight, so I never really dreamed of being one."

"I grew up thinking my dad was a great knight, so I dreamed of being one," Will admitted, tapping his chin. "Your theory just may be right, Gilan."

Gilan then turned to Halt, who'd been silent up to this point. "How 'bout you, Halt? Did your childhood way back when in ancient history affect your dreams?" he said, grinning.

Will cut in before Halt could answer, even if he'd wanted to. "Don't be ridiculous, Gilan. I'm pretty sure Halt's too old to ever have _had_ a childhood."

9. Under the Rain

Will trudged home slowly in the rain. Most everyone with any sense at all had already made it to shelter from the storm, but he was still stuck walking in the mud with his hair sticking to his face and his cloak drenched—and he still had another couple hours to go.

He heaved a sigh and continued his journey, feeling foolish for thinking leaving Tug at home would be fine. Because, of course, it just _had_ to rain.

Except, with his usual almost unsinkable spirit, he began to wonder what exactly was so wrong with staying out in the rain. Yes, it was cold, yes, you could _get _a cold, but other than that… This rain actually felt quite good, considering it had washed away a majority of the sweat that had acquired on his clothes from the running he'd done throughout the day, and it wasn't exactly freezing cold. Just a bit—chilly, Will supposed.

Will smiled. Who needed shelter from the rain? Sometimes the only real shelter was under the rain.

10. Blood

There was too much. Too much for anyone to live.

The crimson seemed to be everywhere, or maybe that was just his frazzled mind supplying hallucinations to his jumbled thoughts. Or maybe everything was dreadfully horribly truly real. Maybe someone really was dying; maybe all that crimson was there for a reason.

But it didn't make any sense. They _couldn't_ die, not know, not ever. They were supposed to live forever. It wasn't supposed to ever end, and certainly never like this, with the blood everywhere, pouring and dripping. No life should end like this, expecially not this life. They didn't deserve it, they'd done nothing to bring such vengeful karma upon their self.

The blood dripped, breaking with each droplet every promise the bleeding figure had ever made to him, every time they'd said they'd never leave, they'd never go out without a fight. They'd been killed in their sleep, and now the entire bed was that rusting crimson, the stained bedclothes twisting around their legs as the symbol of their painful writhing.

And the blood dripped. Too much. Far too much blood. It was too much—for him.

He fainted, collapsing to the floor, and he landed in yet another puddle of blood.

***Gag* I may have gone a bit overboard on 10... *cough* Anyhoo, 6 was a prompt and I have hardly seen ANY cases of tension between Halt and Will, which I find unrealistic, so I made one, 7 wasn't a prompt and was actually the first one I wrote, but I couldn't find it fast enough to put in the first chapter ^_^ 8 was a prompt, 9 was a prompt, 10 was a rather blood-n'-gore type of prompt.**

**Comments done, review and request (R&R ^_^) please! I love to hear what other people thought and want in the future!**

**-Rydd Rider**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's the next five, and RoMythe, your requested sequel to Breath Again is no. 14 this time around.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, so don't sue me! ^_^**

11. Mirror

It was only then that he really saw.

His long-ago apprentice was forty-one now, he already nearly eighty. An old man, becoming blind to his surroundings but finally seeing his past.

Now as he saw his apprentice, he saw what he'd become. All the boy had wanted, throughout his apprenticeship, was to be a great Ranger, to be like Halt. But he'd seen it all wrong. Halt still felt, cried, smiled. It was hidden deep, but it was still there. His apprentice, however… Oh, his apprentice…

Will, once so vital and young, seemed to have aged fifty years in the passing of twenty. He already had a little gray in his brown hair that finally, after years of trying, laid flat. But Halt would have rather it been that same scruffy mess if it brought back the boy he'd known. Will still walked with the grace and silence of a Ranger, still with deadliness, but now it was no longer tempered by love. All he seemed to have was duty to his country, nothing above that, nothing even below that. It was all there was.

And his eyes were terrible. The brown eyes that had always burned with whatever the boy felt were now so different, no more sadness, curiosity, anger, nothing. They were just… dead. And Halt had to admit to himself it had him frightened.

The worst of it all, worse than any other part, was what Halt knew had caused this. His own mentor. The boy had tried to be Halt, but had failed to see beneath the surface. Outside, Halt had seemed just the way Will was now. Inside he was different, but the boy hadn't seen, and maybe still didn't.

It was like looking into a mirror. And Halt hated what he saw.

12. Flowers

They had Will mystified from the very first day. Wildflowers in a Ranger's cabin, known throughout every town and village to be the birthplace of every spell the Rangers cast? Will knew, finally, that Rangers weren't really black magicians, but still. Flowers?

But it wasn't as if he could just walk up and ask Halt. Even though he wasn't a black magician, even though Halt probably wouldn't shoot him, Will was completely terrified of him; seeing him at last with no cloak or—visible—weapons didn't help much either. While Will still shot rapid-fire questions, the mystery of the flowers went unanswered.

It was only much later that Will finally realized. It was after he'd come back from Skandia, realized how cold cold could really be, how dark it was possible to be dark. He'd come to see the dangerous paths that so many had to tread, among them the strange Ranger Corps. He'd found the things in the world that they never dared tell in fairytales or bedtime stories he grew up with.

It was only then he finally learned to appreciate the flowers. They were little bubbles of color sunk deep in an ocean of darkness, small reliefs, something to remind the two resident Rangers that there was something in the world like that, something worth fighting what seemed a never-ending battle for.

And as Will discovered the mystery of the flowers, he discovered that almost nothing was worse than coming home to neglect—a vase of wilted flowers.

13. Invisible

His breath and steps came silent, unseen, as he followed. The suspect was apparently unworried and relaxed, unaware of the danger that stalked him. The suspected man smiled suddenly, as if something he'd thought of brought genuine joy or amusement.

The Ranger didn't see what there was to be smiling about.

The man approached a house, his pursuer still unknown, as the door opened before he got there. A small shape hurtled out of the doorway and collided with the man.

"Daddy!" came a squeal, from the shape that revealed itself to be a little girl. The man smiled again, wider, now that he was home.

"There you are, buttercup." He looked through the door, where the Ranger could see the figure of a woman there, most likely the man's wife. "I'm home," he told his wife.

"I know. I heard you coming a mile off and saw you not long after," she laughed.

The Ranger's own mouth twitched into a smile at that; the man truly was the opposite of a Ranger in his movements. The woman welcomed her husband back home warmly, the little girl clinging to her father's leg all the way. The door closed, cutting the Ranger off from the warmth and light. They hadn't seen him. He was, after all, a Ranger.

Practically invisible.

Not that, at the moment, he wanted to be.

14. Hold My Hand

Halt refused to leave the healer's tent, despite the frequent requests. He'd stayed carefully out of the way but had refused to leave Will's side.

The boy's breathing was shallow. His pulse was weak. He could still make it, though. Halt repeated the last sentence through his mind over and over, hoping it would keep him grounded and at least partially sane. He couldn't let his apprentice die—it would mean failing Will, failing the boy's friends, failing himself.

Will stirred briefly and groaned. "Will?" Halt said hopefully.

"Halt," came the broken reply.

"You'll live, won't you, Will?" Halt said, desperation soaking his tones. "You have to. So will you?"

Will neglected to answer. "Hold my hand, Halt." The words were slow and faltering, but Halt immediately obeyed, gripping his apprentice's hand with all the strength he could muster. "I need someone to hold my hand," Will stammered. "Someone's got to before…" he trailed off, his breathing uneven.

"Before what, Will?" Halt asked in a whisper. He didn't get an answer. Not then, not ever.

But Halt mindlessly continued to hold his hand long after. Continued to hold that limp, pale, lifeless hand…

15. Dreams

A scream. A crash. A yelp. And a thump.

Halt was up and running before the second sound in the series of cacophony had properly been initiated. He burst into Will's room to see his apprentice tangled in his blankets and on the floor. Will blinked up at him with wide, scared eyes, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself. Broken shards, water, and several oddly skewed flowers from the previously intact vase on the bedside table littered the wooden floor slats around the fallen apprentice. Blood flowed from a gash on Will's hand where he had apparently impaled his palm on one such porcelain shard.

Halt stood and stared for a moment, saying nothing, his mouth slightly agape. He raised an eyebrow.

Will shrugged listlessly, not meeting Halt's gaze. Halt gave a soft sigh and stepped forward, nudging Will to get back to his bed while he used the already wet blankets to attempt to mop up a little of the water from the vase. Will helped, and soon the room was the same as it had once been, minus the vase and the blankets.

"What was that about?" Halt asked softly, sitting down on the bed. Will shook his head miserably.

"Dreams… I still… Skandia…" he didn't finish the broken sentence. Halt understood almost immediately and embraced his apprentice.

"It's alright," he murmured. "There just dreams. It's over now."

Will allowed himself to sob, letting the shaking shoulders and strong, warm arms chase away the demons and dreams of the night.

**Comments: 11 was a prompt, 12 was a prompt that I've always been curious about myself, 13 was not a prompt and was inspired by a friend at my school, 14 was a requested sequel AND a prompt, and 15 was a prompt.**

**Alright, what did you think of these five? And any suggestions? Review please!**

**-Rydd Rider**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm posting this too because I can and it's already ready, so whatevs. Hope you like these!**

**Disclaimer: You get the picture.**

16. Tears

He couldn't stop them. They blurred his eyes and leaked out the corners. Halt closed his eyes, then opened them, but nothing seemed to help. He blinked several times, sending miniature streams of tears cascading down his cheeks.

There was nothing he could do. He immersed himself once more into his work, but that only brought more of the salted tears. Why couldn't he stop crying? But he already knew the answer.

Will walked through the room and Halt turned ever so slightly away, reluctant for his apprentice to see him like this, with the unwelcome tears glistening on his cheeks. He was Halt, he wasn't ever supposed to cry about hardly anything, and while crying for something like this made sense… Halt let out a slow breath and blinked back more tears as they accumulated, continuing to make himself finish what he'd started. He didn't dare wipe the tears away with his hand.

He growled lowly, from deep in his throat. Curse these blasted onions.

17. Stained

He ran, bolting through the trees at an alarming speed, not bothering to watch where he stepped. Twigs and leaves crackled under his soft leather boots, each sound against everything he'd been taught about movement since his apprenticeship. But he no longer belonged in that world of silent, unseen warriors. Not after…

He didn't see the stream until he'd almost fallen in. He skidded to a stop, his boots slipping in the gravel and mud, dipping his legs into the shallows up to his calves as he slid to a stop on his side. He didn't get back up right away, instead sitting up and shoving his hands into the water so crisp and cold with autumn he nearly gasped. He scrubbed desperately, trying to remove those stains, the marks of his atrocity. What had he done? It didn't matter now, he had to get this red that didn't belong from his hands.

He'd done it. It was entirely his fault. His heart was warring within itself, trying to deny what there was no avoiding. His mind was attempting to shut down, if only to forget what he'd done. He stared down at his hands and breathed short and sharply.

Maybe someday, in the far future, these stains on his hands would fall away.

The stains on his heart, his mind? Never.

18. Standing Still

That moment. That moment was the worst.

The Genesnovan had a crossbow, Will a bow. Halt was armed with much more, but could only watch with bated breath.

The signal came, and both shot. But that action seemed to never end for the Ranger only observing. Like the moment was standing still. Halt wanted to yell at time to move on, but he had eyes and thoughts only for his apprentice. And in the fraction of the moment where he realized the bolt would miss Will, time seemed to resume its natural pace.

He saw that the Genesnovan had stepped to the side, attempting to avoid ending his life, but only managed to step straight into the path of the oncoming arrow. That made a very relieved Halt smile slightly at the irony.

Will, still exactly where he had been at the beginning of this shooting duel, stood calmly and completely whole, the crossbow bolt having missed him by about half a meter.

Halt's smile grew just a bit more visible. Perhaps standing still did have its merits.

19. Smile

Jenny sniffed back her sobs, gripping a small cloth doll with all her might, as she was lead by the hand to the ward, where she would live now that her mother was dead. She let loose another small wail.

The woman leading her stopped outside a door and knelt in front of the six-year-old. She had kind, blue eyes and a pretty smile. _She shouldn't be smiling, though, _Jenny thought. _My mommy's dead. No one should smile, ever._

"Your mother had the most beautiful smile," the woman told her. "I absolutely loved it."

Jenny just sniffed.

"Do you have that same pretty smile?" she asked Jenny.

She shrugged.

"If you show me I can tell you."

Jenny looked up through her tears and gave the woman a small smile.

"You can do better than that, can't you? Your mother's was much bigger," the woman said.

She felt a lump in her throat. She did want to be like her mother, so much. She smiled as big as she could, as wide as her cheeks would let her. The woman brightened.

"You _do_ have your mother's smile," she laughed.

Jenny kept on smiling as she walked into the wards' quarters, determined to be just like her mother, even with her smile. And it also helped that two other children there, a blond and blue-eyed girl and a brown-eyed boy with messy brown hair and a goofy grin smiled right back.

20. Drowning

Halt windmilled his arms frantically, trying to reach the surface.

"Ferr—" but water filled his mouth before he could finish the cry and he was dragged back under. There was the dim outline of an oar above him and he reached an arm out just as he surfaced again, dragging his sodden form up to air. His twin was on the other end of the oar, and he was stretching his arm out, trying to reach Halt. Halt was doing his best to grab onto it, and his fingers were just brushing the wood when—

_Wham!_

The oar came down hard on his shoulder, bringing with it a jagged fire of pain. Halt may have cried out and he was sure he heard something crack. With a jolt of terror he recognized his twin's antics for what they were. Ferris was trying to kill his own brother!

Halt swam away from the boat and towards the bank, but the strength of the current was dragging him back under and towards the middle. He couldn't get free of the water's clutches, and it was pulling him down, drawing all the oxygen form his lungs, and he was going down into the depths of the river…

Drowning…

**Comments: 16 was a prompt and I actually got the idea from a Chuck Norris joke... 'Chuck Norris makes onions cry'... But Halt's not Chuck Norris, so the onions didn't cry, 17 wasn't a prompt, I got the idea 'cause my hands were green and black (my favorite colors) from tie-dye, though this was a lot different, 18 was a prompt, 19 was a prompt and Lady Maeror wanted some minority characters, which I consider Jenny to be, and 20 was a prompt. O_o* that was a lot of comments.**

**Opinions, suggestions, requests, constructive criticism, all are welcomed and enjoyed thoroughly.**

**-Rydd Rider**


	5. Chapter 5

**Next chapter, next five. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

21. Memory

"_I swear I'll never eat shrimp again as long as I live."_

Halt opened his eyes and sighed, trying to get away from the memory. But soon his exhaustion forced his eyes closed again.

"_I really did see Ferris on the battlements, Caitlyn. He didn't look happy that those tiled missed me. I think he's actually trying to kill me."_

Halt squirmed. Tired as he was, sleep avoided him, and instead he got these flashback moments. And they weren't from very comfortable times.

"_Ferris! Help, I—" Coughing. Coughing from his own mouth as he tried to expel the river water. A hard thunk on his shoulder. Splashing, lots of splashing._

Halt tossed and turned, knowing that the memories wouldn't leave, but unable to stop himself from trying.

"_You're trying to kill me! Your own twin! Because you want the throne? Ferris, it isn't worth a brother's blood!" Insane laughter, this not from himself, but from someone who only looked to be._

Halt groaned. He simply couldn't banish the memories.

_Sounds of frantic scrambling. Something toppling over and crashing with and expensive-sounding shatter. A panicked voice. "Where am I? Who are you?"_

_Another, deeper, calmer. "You're in Redmont Fief, in Araluen, boy. I am a Ranger. And my question, I believe, is who are you?"_

22. Breaking the Rules

"That was idiotic, fool-hardy, completely irresponsible—"

Will winced a little. His escapade hadn't exactly turned out as planned. He'd been trying to corner the leader of a bandit group by himself, just to prove himself to Halt. But he was only an apprentice, and apparently this simply wasn't done.

The tirade continued. "—you could have been killed, or could have been injured even worse—"

Will must have missed a couple things, though, because it had ended up _him_ getting cornered by the bandit head honcho on the second story of a dilapidated building. He'd had to jump out the window to avoid a rather nasty-looking knife and had landed wrong, breaking his leg, which was now tied firmly in a splint.

"—that was absolutely not thought out, at the very least you should have planned more—"

Will gritted his teeth. True, all of it, but this rant was getting very old very fast. Besides, there was one redeeming factor…

Halt heaved an enormous sigh and placed a hand on his apprentice's shoulder. "—and I still can't believe you actually managed to nail that bandit with your throwing knife." He grinned slightly, the lecture now over. "There's only one rule in the Ranger Corps that matters: accomplish what you set out to do and try not to get killed on the way. You can break pretty much any other rule as long as you stay with that one. It's the Ranger way."

Will grinned and began walking away.

"But I still think that was stupid," Halt added.

23. Obsession

Halt walked into Wills room, accidentally brushing against a small leather-bound notebook sitting on the bedside table.

"Will, I—" He stopped and blinked in confusion as Will reached over and adjusted the notebook back to exactly where it had been before. "What was that for?"

Will shrugged. "I dunno. What were you saying?" But Halt had gone off that topic in efforts to discover what that seemingly random movement meant.

He purposely moved a little and rumpled the blanket, just a bit. "I was saying that—" He cut off again as Will moved the blanket to get the wrinkle out. Halt just stared at his apprentice for a bit, then deliberately, still holding the boy's gaze, leaned over and slid the notebook a few centimeters to the left.

Will folded his arms and scowled. "What?" Halt just stood there silently, waiting. Almost against his own volition, Will moved the notebook those few centimeters back to it previous position. "Why are you staring at me?" he demanded, his cheeks reddening from the embarrassing revelation of this fault of his.

Halt just shook his head and turned and walked out, original reason for coming in forgotten, laughing ever so softly.

24. Do Not Disturb

Will woke at dawn, stretching and yawning. He looked out the window, seeing the sun sit contentedly on the horizon—

And froze. Halt had let him sleep until after sunrise? Something was very, very wrong.

Will got out of his bed and warily tiptoed to his door and opened it slowly. He winced as the door's hinges protested. He poked his head out, looking for anything out of place. Nothing. He began to think that maybe nothing _was_ wrong. Maybe it was his birthday, so Halt had let him sleep in? No, that wasn't for another three months. He wracked his mind for some other explanation; nothing came to mind. He noticed that it was quite silent in the house, with no sounds of Halt making breakfast.

His began to get nervous. Was Halt even here? Had he been captured? He moved around the house silently, listening for anything that would assure him that there was no need to panic or do anything stupid—

He heard something. A sneeze? Will cocked an eyebrow in confusion and went to Halt's room, the thought never occurring to him that it would have made sense to go there first. He heard another sneeze as he knocked on the door.

The door was yanked open and a furious looking Halt glared out through narrowed eyes. "Whad, Will?" he said with a little difficulty, even those two words sounding quite congested.

Will blinked in surprise. "I—you didn't—Wait a second, do you have a head cold, Halt?"

Halt's expression turned downright livid and he shut the door in his apprentice's face with a bang. Will shrugged and went back to his room, happy to continue sleeping now that the reasons for his late awakening were explained.

Apparently legends weren't supposed to get head colds.

25. Dust

The apprentice Ranger leaned forward as his mentor told him his favorite story, though it was 'technically' called a lesson: the tales and adventures of the legendary Halt and his equally legendary apprentice, Will Treaty. Both were long since dead, of course; the boy's mentor had once been the apprentice of Will Treaty's own former apprentice.

Though the men were in their graves, their tales and triumphs still lived on in the form of every tall tale and in the very freedom of the country of Araluen, now ruled by Queen Evanlyn, daughter of the late Queen Cassandra and King Horace. Horace had been part of the long-revered tales, too, as well as Cassandra in a few.

But now, all of them were gone, leaving legends in a blazing trail of glory even as they themselves slowly turned to dust, as stories never will.

**Comments: 21 was a prompt, 22 was a prompt that I really liked ^_^ 23 was a prompt and OCD Will makes me laugh, so yeah, 24 was a prompt that I couldn't do anything else with at the moment, so I made it funny, and 25 wasn't a prompt and was a very random thought.**

**Opinions, suggestions, requests, review! Wow, that's a lot of random looking words and commas. ^_^**

**-Rydd Rider**


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